


His Crown of Roses

by Nokomis



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her king and her knight tread lightly around Margaery</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Crown of Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Yuletide '06. Set during A Clash of Kings.

When she sees Renly Baratheon for the first time after learning of the marriage her father has arranged, she is surprised by how beautiful he is. The way his bright, friendly blue eyes are dramatic against the darkness of his hair. Margaery feels almost plain as she curtseys. 

Renly greets her by kissing her hand, which sends shivers racing down her spine. "My lovely bride," he says.

She could love him, she thinks, and smiles back prettily.

Her father's words echo through her mind. "You will be queen."

Renly smiles at her, and she imagines that she can see hope there.

*

After her marriage, Loras swears himself to Renly's Rainbow Guard.

Renly accepts his vow with a grin wider than the one at their wedding. Loras shivers when Renly pins the rainbow silk around his shoulders. He has won acclaim before, but now Loras is offering himself selflessly for Renly. For her husband. Margaery is proud.

Their father seems unsurprised. Loras has never been one to contemplate marriage, and his skills are exemplary. He does the family far more credit as a knight than he ever would in any other position.

Margaery is happy to have her brother so close.

*

Renly and Loras are fast friends, Margaery is pleased to note. Renly has taken Loras as his closest confident, and at banquets Loras gets the seat of honor on the other side of Renly.

Margaery couldn't have imagined her marriage working out better. Her closest brother nearby, her husband charming and attentive.

It almost feels like a family, in its own way. Margaery never dreamed that life would allow her such bounty.  
Her maid laughs at her, and calls her an innocent fool when she comments on it during her bath.

Margaery ought to have had her punished for speaking such to her queen, but she showed graciousness instead. There was nothing about her marriage that the servants would know that she wouldn't, after all. It was merely jealousy.

*

Her king and her knight tread lightly around her. Both speak to her gently, as though they fear she will break. 

She is not surprised that Renly would treat her like a precious, eminently breakable glass flower. Her father had assured her that the husband he had chosen would be as unlike Robert, whose appetites were infamous, as night from day, despite their close resemblance.

She had, however, thought that Loras knew her better than that. 

*

She lays with her back to her husband.

He plays with her hair, kissing the crown of her head gently. The name she can barely hear him exhale is not her own, but in its own way, it is close enough.

Margaery sleeps.

*

When she enters the tent to find her king kneeling before her brother, Margaery freezes.

She'd known - of course she'd known, how could she not have - but it wasn't the same thing as seeing her brother's face, ecstatic with closed eyes and his hand tangled in Renly's hair. The noises they make send tremors through her stomach.

She had nearly convinced her feet to carry her back out of the tent when Loras' eyes opened.

She opens her mouth, halfway to a proper apology and hasty exit, but can't force the words out. That's when Renly looks over his shoulder and just stares at her.

"I--" she says, then stops again. She isn't the one being unfaithful, she isn't the one doing things with someone else (her brother!) right in their tent. She shouldn't be the one with the burning cheeks and twisting stomach.

"Margaery," Loras says, his tone caught halfway between pleading and commanding, and she can no longer muster propriety.

She flees.

*

That night, Margaery prepares for rest the same she has every other night of her marriage.

Renly is almost hesitant as he enters their tent. She almost wishes that they were in a proper castle, where she would have her own boudoir, just to avoid the awkwardness that is sure to commence, but they are traveling and the elaborate tent is far more accommodating than the rustic inns they've passed.

"My sweet," he says, standing stiffly just inside the entrance.

"Do you call my brother that, as well?" Margaery cannot stop the bitterness from escaping. She keeps her eyes fixed on the back of the tent, unwilling to see her husband's reaction.

"Margaery, it has never been my intention to hurt you," Renly tries again. His bearing is that of a king, she thinks, and knows that no matter her feelings, their marriage will stand.

She'd been foolish to think this union would be any different than any other. Petty things like love and jealousy couldn't stand in the way of politics and power.

*

"I understand perfectly well," Margaery tells her brother. She had sent the ladies away, and they were alone in the sewing room. "What I can't understand is why you thought I would be a hindrance."

Her brother's brow furrows, and she resists the urge to smooth it, to tell him that it would ruin his beauty like their mother had told her countless times. "Margaery?"

"Loras," she says. "Haven't we always wanted each other to be happy?"

"Always," he says. "But..."

"Really, I prefer it this way," she comments, carefully folding an embroidered shawl. "I would much prefer my husband's infidelity to provide my brother happiness, rather than just me sorrow. I'm no fool. I know how political marriages work, and I'm not so innocent that I would expect someone like Renly to find sole solace in my flesh."

She does not point out his vows. She knows the look on Loras' face. It is the same as when he discovered a stray kitten living near the kitchens at Highgarden when they were young. He'd insisted on keeping it, even as their father insisted it was no sort of pet for a lordling.  
She remembered his tears when it had died, weeks later. He'd actually loved the cat, not the idea of subverting their father's wishes.

Margaery can only make it easier for her brother, because she loves him too dearly to deny him.

*

When Renly carelessly removes his layers of silk and furs to wash off in their room, Margaery cannot help wondering which bruises and scratches that always mar his flesh are from practice, and which are from her brother.

She knows that Renly and Loras do not tread lightly around one another, as they do around her. Not in any sense.

It is wrong that she should feel so jealous of their injuries while her flesh remains beautiful and unmarred, but Margaery does not know the feel of true passion.

Not like they do.

*

It shouldn't bother her, but when she sees the Tyrell roses on Renly's crown, she feels a sharp stab of jealousy.

She knows she is only the mortar, cementing together Renly's claim to the crown and her father's influence and men. She knows the roses are meant to show homage to her father, not her. Not Loras.

But when she sees Renly idly smile and lightly touch the golden flowers, and the way the stag rises from them, she knows the crown was designed with Loras in mind.

It doesn't seem fair to her that her brother should get to have glory in the field as well as such deep love from their king.

*

While Margaery is doing her needlework, she sees the glances that her ladies-in-waiting share. Her cousins, whose talk is chipper, exchange knowing looks. 

She acts as though she cannot see them. Queens do not trouble themselves with the mistakes of those below them. She accidentally stabs herself, and the horrified gasps of her ladies at the sight of blood welling were, at least, sincere.

She does not hate her brother, even though she knows the gossip would not be so fierce were it anyone else.  
She hopes that it has not spread past the camp. She hates to be the fool, but knows that her father's investment in Renly's campaign - men and arms and gold - cannot be undermined by rumors and jealousy.

There are things much more precious in this world than her heart.

*

They arrive at Lord Caswell's keep, finally. Margaery is grateful to spend time in a proper castle, rather than their flimsy tents with those uncomfortable memories burned into her mind. (She replays that moment, seeing them together, in her mind some mornings after Renly has left her and the servants have not yet entered for the morning.)

"I shall throw a tourney," Renly tells her one breakfast. 

"Loras will ride splendidly," Margaery says without irony.

Renly laughs. "He always does."

*

Margaery and Renly both cheer on Loras as he enters the tourney.

When the Tarth girl shoves Loras to the ground, and holds him at the tip of her blade until he yields, Margaery grips her husband's hand tightly.

He has a half-smile on his lips, and she doesn't quite understand why.

Brienne, triumphant, requests a place on the Rainbow Guard. Margaery cannot see why Renly would place such a laughingstock in a place of such esteem, though she can easily see why Brienne requests it.

She wishes she could tell the ungainly woman to not bother with looking on Renly with such open affection, because she has just beaten to the ground the only person he seems to see with his love-blinded eyes.

She sees the way Renly keeps glancing at Loras, who is bloodied and mussed and looks like a warrior.

Margaery knows she will sleep alone.

*

She can't help but admire Renly, even knowing that she isn't the reason his smile softens into something like joy.  
They feast that night. Renly teases her, showers her in the usual affection while Loras recounts, with laughter, the sight of the Tarth woman above him, fierce as a tiger.

Margaery enjoys watching them together, because she wants them both to be happy. When she's there, too, it doesn't feel so lonely.

Renly is the center of attention in the hall, his loud laugh and easy wit drawing others to him like a beacon in the night.

Margaery could get used to this life.

*

After she is widowed, Loras collapses in her arms, crying over his lost love. 

He is filthy from the ride, but Margaery does not complain about her ruined dress. It is immaterial, because she too is ruined now. A fallen queen from a dynasty that was never given chance to shine. Will never shine, because the line is dead. She does not know what her future holds.

Her womb is empty and her handsome king is dead, but her brother's heart is shattered. Margaery cannot stop the soft placation from escaping as she strokes Loras' hair like a mother.

She loves her brother too much, feels his anguish too much, to allow herself bitterness or self-pity.

Her crown is meaningless. She does not know what ought to be done with it, so she slides it off her head and hugs Loras tight.

They still have each other.


End file.
